


A Soul Full of Stars

by Freddeye



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, Grief, On the surface, Post-Game, Sad, This is depressing tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5357045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freddeye/pseuds/Freddeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'You learn a lot about people, monsters specifically, when you spend hours maintaining a garden with them. You learn that monsters do die eventually. You learn that people can be older than they appear, that their souls can quite literally be weak for a boss monster after so much strain on their heart, that Toriel is quite the spring chicken compared to a  certain fluffy buns. You learn that love doesn't always stop even if the other person stops loving you. Like a broken tap that only wants to give.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soul Full of Stars

**Author's Note:**

> I know Asgore (canonically) wouldn't age as Asriel is dead, but who knows, maybe Flowey counts??? Ha ha, just take this as a canon-defying thing ;;

Frisk had nowhere to go after everything. Their parents were barely parents and the thought of returning to that dingy little flat made their stomach turn.

And so, Frisk stayed with Toriel. There was pie for dessert every night (which never got old) and eventually they got used to the rubbery texture of snails.

Life was better than it had ever been. Surrounded by warmth, friends and comfort, Frisk was…for once, ok. For once, they felt like everything was normal.

Although there was some tension between goat mom and dad, Frisk strived to spend as much time as they could with both of their adopted parents. 

Frisk loved Asgore's beautiful golden garden, despite the sour memories it harboured. They spent their time pruning and picking and planting and generally getting covered in soil. After hours of work, the two would sit down to a cup of tea.

But slowly, Frisk began to notice things-you had to have good perception if you were exploring a whole underground full of hostile monsters. Frisk noticed the way that Asgore's breaths rasped, the way he always had a bad back, the way his hearing and eyesight was faltering.

You learn a lot about people, monsters specifically, when you spend hours maintaining a garden with them. You learn that monsters do die eventually. You learn that people can be older than they appear, that their souls can quite literally be weak for a boss monster after so much strain on their heart, that Toriel is quite the spring chicken compared to a certain fluffy buns. You learn that love doesn't always stop even if the other person stops loving you. Like a broken tap that only wants to give.

"Frisk," Asgore spoke into the summery silence of the garden as the two sipped jasmine tea from their cups. "I have something to tell you."

Frisk was silent. That was one thing that hadn't changed-they were still mute.

Asgore rested a huge hand on the child's shoulder and gave one of his reassuring smiles. It seemed to melt like chocolate on his face. Frisk watched the way Asgore's eyes gleamed, almost as if they had been replaced by marbles.

"I'm very, very old Frisk. Much older than you think. And there is a very good chance…" Asgore trailed off just as his voice became cotton. Just as it began to crack. Frisk felt their oxegyn supply solidify into molasses in their lungs.

"Frisk…I'm going to die soon."

Frisk got up. Frisk walked away from the garden, letting the sticky summer heat kiss their face and drag them backwards with greedy hands. Frisk trampled pansies and heather under their feet as they left the greenhouse and walked straight across the roaring streets. Frisk paced over the horizon and felt their legs turn to ashes as they waded through the warbling, hovering walls of heat. Frisk took each step up to Toriel's apartment one by one, and it felt like it was a lifetime of staircases. Frisk locked themselves in their room and crawled into their bed and tucked their knees under their chin and rolled the taste of jasmine around their mouth.

And then, Frisk cried.

***  
And it felt like a dam breaking, like a huge crevice had gaped open inside of them and all it did was gush outward.

It almost hurt, like a million papercuts that sliced too deep, like the time Frisk had disturbed a nest of bees. It almost stopped being numb.

***  
Toriel found Frisk curled in a little ball under their covers. When she finally coaxed an answer out of them as to why they were crying, Toriel was quiet. She was soft-spoken for the rest of the day, and that night Frisk heard Sans and her speaking in low, worried voices in between sobs.

Frisk had assumed that Toriel didn't like Asgore anymore. They were proved wrong. Toriel started baking for him again, helping him in the garden, talking stiffly at first and then dissolving into her natural warmth.

There was so much hope in Asgore's eyes. So much unimaginable love. It made Frisk's throat hurt.

Everyone found out eventually. Everyone, even Papyrus, became aware of the situation. Everyone found that every day was like a butterfly. So fleeting, and yet beautiful. Cheesy, and very romantic.

Frisk saw everyone cry in the next six months. They saw how Toriel hid her eyes behind hankerchiefs, they saw how Papyrus sniffled and pretended to have a cold. They saw how Alphys's glasses clouded over, saw how Undyne's face became blank and her eyes glistened. 

Frisk saw-unimaginably-how Sans sat on the couch with his hands clasped and his eyes down. They sat next to him and Sans hugged Frisk like his life depended on it.

They felt how the tears leaked through their shirt, how his shoulders shook. The spaghetti at dinner was much more half-hearted than usual.

Frisk saw how everyone broke like china but everyone was too tired to pick up the pieces. Who wants to bother when they're all mixed up, anyways? 

***  
Then one day-one day, in March, when the flowers were blooming and the sky was blueing and Frisk could feel warmth beginning to return to everywhere.

Asgore collapsed.

And it was the point of no return, the lurch before the dip of the rollercoaster. 

They all thought he was dead at first, all thought that this was the end, the huge black hole that was swallowing everyone up. But no.

No, now, Asgore was bedridden and unable to tend to his beloved flowers. His eyes were shadowed and bagged, his hair mussed and lank. He wasn't a king anymore.

Frisk tried to ignore it. They brought Asgore's favourite flower, a sunflower, into his room and a stack of crosswords and puzzles.

The room smelt of sickness and dying, but tea as well. Faintly, somewhere. Only the ghost of a smell.

***  
And now, it was just counting down the days. Now, it was just waiting for the moment where Asgore's breathing stopped and he was gone.

Now, their life was on a timer.  
***  
Frisk had taken to sleeping in Asgore's room, letting moon light wash their skin silver and sew spider webs into their hair. Asgore slept a lot now.  
***  
It had to be about 3am. Some time like that. Frisk's eyes blurred as they opened them. They yawned and looked over at Asgore. He was awake, staring straight into Frisk's eyes. The two stared at each other for a few seconds (or was it minutes? Hours?) until Asgore winked at them and, over the bedsheets, grasped Frisk's hand and squeezed it tight. 

Goodbye, it seemed to say.  
***  
Frisk didn't know when they had fallen asleep, but when they woke up, Asgore's bed was glittering with stars.  
***

There were two funerals to be had. This human one was first, where everyone mumbled about how sad it was that Asgore was dead, and everyone cried politely and talked about his love of flowers.

In the middle of some idiot's eulogy about Asgore's love of daffodils, Frisk spoke for the first time in years. They stood up in their pew and screamed, at the top of their lungs: "BULLSHIT! DAD'S FAVOURITE FLOWERS WERE SUNFLOWERS!"

Then they ran and ran and ran until their legs fell away along with the ground.  
***  
Frisk hated all of these smug flowers with their flowing radiance, their perfect beauty. They hated the memories, the everlasting selfish happiness that these flowers got to hoard.

Dirt caked Frisk's nails as they ripped flowers out by their roots. Petals were crushed under their knees, the stems breaking like delicate necks.

Remember, Frisk, a voice resounded in their head. If you ever get angry at the flowers, don't take it out on them. Yell at the sky. It doesn't get talked to enough.

The voice sounded like dad.

So Frisk brushed down their shorts and turned their head to the sky and opened their mouth as it began weeping.  
***  
The second funeral was different. It belonged to no one but the monsters and Frisk.

Frisk stood on top of Mount Ebott- the exact spot where they had surfaced. The sun was beginning to set. Frisk clasped the box of dust in their arms, breathing steadily.

They unlatched the lid. The first few specks of dust began drifting out. So eager and wanting of the sunlight. 

The breeze began to pick up, and Frisk tilted the box over. They and the monsters watched as a river of silver lovliness flowed out into everything.

Frisk imagined all of the flowers that the dust could land on. They smiled.  
***  
Frisk sat on the roof of the apartment building, watching lights flicker into being in the soft blue-blackness. They clutched the sunflower to their chest and shrugged their blanket further around their shoulders.

They felt a strange shift inside of them as the smell of cinnamon and butterscotch began drifting from a lower window.

They were filled with nostalgia and, strangely, as the flower sighed happily in their arms

a sense of determination.


End file.
